


The Origin of the Scar

by towanda



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Fluff, One Shot, Pre-Canon, basically I love it when Carol says "daft"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 11:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8055103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towanda/pseuds/towanda
Summary: In my story "Holding Hands" Carol makes reference to a "careless" incident with Abby that left a scar on her right middle knuckle.  A commenter wanted to know the story, so, well, here you go.  Enjoy!





	The Origin of the Scar

_“You have a little scar here, on your knuckle.”_

_“Oh, that,” Carol laughed with a huff, thankful for a distraction.  The scar was a small, clean little half-moon across her middle knuckle.  “Abby got a little careless in the furniture store one day.  I made sure to bleed all over her white shirt as vengeance.”  Carol remembered the moment clearly, but no way in hell was she going to tell Therese that story._

 ~~~

 “Abby!” Carol spun around and slapped at Abby’s hand slipping under her sweater from behind.  “Are you utterly daft?  The door, for Christ’s sake, we’re still open.”  She was startled, but she was trying not to grin and her flaring eyes held a spark of humor.

“Nope,” Abby shook her head, “I locked it.  Flipped the sign to closed.  Just you and me and that Queen Anne monstrosity over there.”  She pointed her chin over Carol’s shoulder and pressed up against her, up against the work table covered in tools and sandpaper and varnish brushes.

Carol put her hands on Abby’s chest, keeping a space, and looked over her own shoulder at the cabinet.  “Whoever painted that thing pink should be shot. They should have paid _us_ to take it.”

“Forget about that,” Abby said, turning Carol’s head with her finger on her chin.  “I’m over here.”

Carol narrowed her eyes with a tilt of her head and regarded Abby, who was now rolling up the sleeves of her white work shirt.  “You truly are daft. I’ve always said so.”

“Your point?”  Abby put her hands on the work table on either side of Carol, and pressed against her again, dipping her nose under Carol’s hair, breathing into the soft skin behind her right ear.

“Oh…” Carol grabbed the table for balance, leaning her head into Abby’s. “No point, really.”

“No point,” breathed Abby, skimming her grinning lips across Carol’s neck.  “I see.”

Carol sighed, losing herself for a moment in warm breath.  She shook her head.

“Abby, you know how I feel about this.”  She pushed forward to shift Abby off of her, though she did not convince even herself.  “What if…well, anyone could come.”  She couldn’t bring herself to say Harge’s name in the sanctuary that was her and Abby’s shop.

“Door’s locked, I told you,” Abby hummed into Carol’s throat, placed a kiss at her collarbone.  “Closed up and no one can see us here, Carol.”

Their bodies leaned into each other.

“Daft…” Carol whispered, wrapping her arms around Abby.  There was no hesitation in the long, unhurried kiss that followed.  Abby kept Carol pressed up against the table, and they tilted, Carol backwards, as the kiss deepened in fervor.

Carol bit Abby’s lower lip, took the tendon of her neck in her teeth.  “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“You talk too much.”  Abby shifted her hands under Carol’s thighs, heaved Carol onto the table and pulled her legs apart so they were on either side of her. 

Carol’s arms flailed as she lost her balance, tipping backwards onto the table, Abby pulling her thighs towards her.  “What **_are_** you doing,” she laughed, her hands grasping backwards, trying to steady herself ( _no such luck, thank God, too steady anyway_ ), knocking into something, a crash and rattle of metal and wood, something sharp, but Abby’s hands were on the buttons of her sweater now, halfway down already ( _my God she moves fast_ ), Abby was leaning over her running her tongue along her skin at the lace edge of her bra, and Carol hooked her legs around Abby ( _closer_ ), pulled tight ( _closer_ ), and forgot ( _can I forget, please_ ), just for a moment ( _just for a moment_ ), who she was.

Only later, as Abby began to button her shirt back up, did they realize that Carol had cut her right middle knuckle on one of the woodworking tools, and bled everywhere she had gripped Abby’s shirt fabric tight in her fist.

“Dammit, I love this shirt,” Abby muttered, still with a sly grin so Carol knew she wasn’t entirely upset.

“Ha, vengeance!” Carol laughed, deep and full in her throat.

“That’s not going to come out,” Abby said as she checked the rest of her shirt with a huff. 

“Well, now you’ll never forget me.”  Carol still smirked, but a place in her went suddenly still, melancholy.

Abby paused her inspection and looked up at Carol, eyes puzzled yet kind.  “Carol…”

Carol shifted, looked at her knuckle, confused that the cut was so clean.  “Abby, I…”

Abby held up her hand, smiling quietly.  “I know.  It’s all right.”  She gently tucked Carol’s hair behind her ears, and then suddenly punched her in the shoulder.  “As if I could ever forget you, you nitwit. Anyway, you don’t get rid of me so easy.  I’m here for the long haul, baby. No matter what.”

“No matter what.”

_I’m counting on it._


End file.
